Doe
by L56895
Summary: His name is forever inked on her. Jane x Kurt, tattoo fluff.


A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed or responded to my stories so far. I haven't had the guts to write anything in about four years so I really appreciate any feedback! This time I thought I'd try something a bit fluffier.

 **Doe**

She is not the first, or even the second, person to notice the bandage over his left breast. Sarah, initially panicked at the sight of him pulling his shirt on in the kitchen, laughs and throws a bagel at him when he acts coy and then finally explains. In the locker room that morning Zapata eyes him carefully, remembering the injuries of the previous day and knowing his weren't among them. He swears her to secrecy until the evening, lets her pull his undershirt aside with a hooked finger and peels back the thin layer so she can see. She laughs, not unkindly, and pats him on the chest next to the surgical tape.

'You got hooked bad, Weller,' she quips, shutting her locker with a grin.

He knows. He knows.

When the day is over, some brief mission involving a car dealer dealing more than then the standard 4x4, he finds her in the locker rooms post-debrief. Her back is turned while she rummages through her locker and he watches the movement of his name on her back as her arms lift her dirty tank top up and over her head and she throws it into a bag. In any other context he would enjoy the sight of her in just a bra and jeans; would drink in the sight of her narrow waist and strong back as she replaced one dirty shirt with a clean one. But here and now he is focussed on the tattoo of his name forever inked between her shoulders. She is never completely off guard, he knows, too many arms grabbing her from behind in the past. But he has grown accustomed to approaching her carefully, to letting himself observe from afar when she doesn't know anyone else is around. He coughs gently to let her know he's there before he kisses her; once slowly and lightly on the scar on her neck and then again on the lips when she turns to face him.

'Good work today,' he murmurs against her mouth, a soft growl that he knows sounds more like his bedroom voice than his usual locker room one.

'You too,' she tips her head back as he moves his mouth down past her jaw to explore her collarbone with his lips. Her back is pressed against metal and he is almost pushing her head into the depths of her locker but she doesn't make a sound of complaint until he pulls back and breaks contact.

'I've got something to show you,' he says softly, planting another kiss on her forehead to steady his nerves. He pulls off his shirt and he can tell for a moment she is confused, questioning his motives in the stale setting of the locker room. He laughs and steps back to give her space, watches the confusion grown as he removes his undershirt and throw them both into the bag at her feet that he knows will come home to him later. Her eyes widen and she presses her fingers to the skin next to his bandage, suddenly worried for him, and he peels it back to break the suspense.

She knows- what it means- as soon as she sees it, he can tell by the way her mouth relaxes and her eyes fill with tears. A Doe with width of her palm (she presses her hand against it gently), outlined in black and in mid leap over his heart.

'Patterson helped with the design,' he says to break the silence, 'Turns out she's a bit of a creative whizz as well as a tech one.'

She nods without speaking and skims the ink with her fingertips. To people outside the team the collection of numbers and letters that fill the outline would seem like gibberish, but he doesn't much care about people outside of his team and family nowadays.

'My case number,' she says softly, eyes flickering to his face for a fraction of a second, 'The date I came out of the bag in Times Square.'

'The date you came to me,' he corrects calmly, 'The day you came into my life.'

It's a shift in words and it's a deliberate change from the times when he would have said _the day you came back to me,_ back when she was still his Taylor and not a separate entity to his past. She'll appreciate it, he knows, even though they rarely talk about Taylor since she was buried- properly this time.

'Why?' he's surprised by the question until he realises it came with a smile.

'Now we're even,' he drew her close again and traced his name on her back with feathery strokes, 'I was your starting point, Jane, and you were mine. I love you, you know that.'

She nods, presses her lips to his chest and stays there. He feels her breath change from light to laboured and it take him a moment to realise she's crying against him.

Across the room he hears the door open just before Zapata turns the corner. For a moment concern flashes briefly across her face to see them both there; Jane half sobbing, Kurt naked from the waist up, bare arms encircling her protectively. He nods to reassure Tasha and she steps back, smiling quickly as she retreats from the room to leave them there; alone, connected and in need of one another.


End file.
